You sigh. "It's the old Navigator condition rearing its head."

"Oh, oh dear. I'd come running if protocol didn't get in the damn way. Appearances to maintain and all that. I'll send a shuttle for you."

"That... probably won't work. I need to replace my wardrobe first."

"Thin or thick? I can send some robes at least over with the shuttle. The Clan-crew makes some wonderful garments, and with the auto-looms, they can make them rather quickly."

You let out a mirthless chuckle. "Try tall instead. Eight foot less some small change. Mostly the same otherwise."

"Mostly?"

"Still two arms, two legs, and one head in the usual proportions, just larger."

"That's no small relief! The shuttle should be arriving an hour or so after the Ignis makes orbit. Now Which Clan should I contract? The gun-deckers make a beautiful sleeveless pattern, but they insist on that hazard-stripe hem..."

"Considering I'm stuck with a modified bedsheet at the moment, go ahead and surprise me. My stewardess works a good needle, she can modify whatever needs it, and Faunia's seamstresses back on Oasis can run up formal numbers the next time we pass by there."

"I'll contract several then! And none of those Oasis formal outfits! Too much lace and petticoats, last I was there."

"You might be surprised. I'll bring over one of the ones that no longer fits me. Seems a waste to just throw out good steel thistle silk."

"Oh? Dare I ask?"

"Better I show you. Nothing risque! I just got it through Faunia's head that she could set fashion instead of adhering to it."

"Ah HA! finally someone got some fashion sense into that girl's head! How big was the clue-stick?"

"49th Founding Day formal dress, Oasis traditional fashion? About thirty pounds of excess fabric."

"Big stick indeed! Well, I'd better get those contracts out so the clan seamstresses can get their dresses done by the time you get into orbit! see you in a few hours then!"

"I'll see you soon Aunt Yasha. Bye." You close the connection with a sigh. You are not looking forward to the upcoming conversation. Interrogation might be a better word. Nothing to do now but wait for the shuttle, and see how the clan-crew of the Terra Incarnadine dress.

The Ignis takes her time settling into orbit. Despite the urgency of the situation, there is no point in making the System Defense Force gunners twitchy. Not with the amount of firepower at their disposal. So the Ignis follows all of the rules, answers all of the challenges, and settles into her assigned orbit. Shuttles are promptly dispatched every which way, carrying messages and messengers where they need to go. It's actually closer to an hour and a half before the shuttle Raven alights from the Terra Incarnadine. Her official cargo of messengers and fact-confirmers head off to talk to everyone they need to, while Canala quietly collects the cargo assigned to you.

Soon thereafter, you are examining the dresses spread out before you on your bed. You eye them carefully. Canala has her sewing kit out and ready, but you need to pick one to try on before she can get to work on it.

The first is the sleeveless dress from the gun-deck clans. A ruddy red, slashed with bright yellow-gold 'hazard stripes' on its lower third, and about the neck and shoulder openings. You run your fingers down the fabric, and feel the sturdy woolen cloth. The Terra Incarnadine must have a herd of near-sheep somewhere aboard to produce such cloth on a regular basis. You don't mind the sleeveless look, but the hazard strips are rather noticeable. Sensible, for people who spend their entire lives in such a high-risk environment, but attention grabbing. And you don't particularly want to draw undue attention to yourself on this trip: your body will do that for you.

The next is a deep blue, barely a shade above purple. You eye its tight-fitting appearance, already spotting several points at which it will need to be loosened. You do like the overall form fitting appearance, but it needs to be fit to your form before you can wear it. The well-hidden zippers only become apparent on very close inspection, revealing how to put it on without contorting yourself. If you had to guess which clan made it, you'd pick one of the flight deck clans, given its vague similarities to the atmosphere suits worn by combat pilots.

The third is clearly from the engine-clans. Short-sleeved and with a hem just below your knees, sleeves ending just above your elbows, and all made of a very lightweight synthetic cloth of some sort. It's loose-fitting, clearly intended to reduce how much it would stick to sweaty skin. Unlike the gun-deckers red and yellow, this one is a bright crimson with a white cog-toothed pattern on the edges. You like it, and it would need few adjustments, but the last outfit draws your attention strongly.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The last outfit is a baggy brown linen robe. Belted at the waist with a simple belt of the same material, and with a voluminous hood to cover your head. You can't help but smile when you consider that this had to be specifically requested by Aunt Yasha. Folded in its depths, you find something even more comforting: undergarments! Simple, adjustable, undergarments! Half of the reason you were staying in your quarters since your change was to avoid walking about 'commando', but now you won't have to!

With a smile on your face, you start dressing in your new brown robe. It's a little loose, but that's just fine with you. You put one of your old formal dresses, the good steel thistle one you were planning on wearing to the Founding Day celebration, in the bag you new dresses came in. Leaving Canala to work on the other dresses, you head for the shuttle that is going to take you to meet your aunt. And a potentially awkward conversation that you'd rather avoid but can't. Especially now that Aunt Yasha knows you've changed, and it's not one of the usual Navigator degenerations that tend to happen over time.

Safely cloaked and relatively anonymous, you make your way down to the shuttle heading back to the Terra Incarnadine. You aren't surprised to find it in the VIP hangar. Nor are you surprised to notice a Thunderhawk gunship, undoubtedly carrying one of the Deathwatch marines, is headed in the same direction. Your destination is a bit of a surprise however: the Terra Incarnadine's Shipmaster's hangar. Usually reserved for the shipmaster's personal shuttle, Your aunt must have put in a word with someone important to get you brought directly there. Disembarking, you notice the heavy lander crowded with tools and equipment for survey work parked next to a sleek red VIP shuttle badged with the cog of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Bemused, you follow the footman to the officer's decks.

You are less surprised by the fact that an entire deck of the command tower is reserved for flag officer's quarters. Battleships have more room to spare than most other Imperial ships, and the Terra Incarnadine was re-built with its status as a flagship in mind. Tristan Von Sebastion has his quarters somewhere on this deck, along with his wife Mu'randa. That the Navigator should also be housed in the same style is a little ostentatious for a small Nomadic Navigator House like the Dannans, but probably not for a more wealthy house.

The footman leaves you at a doorway. You draw a breath and stoop through it.

Aunt Yasha hugs you tightly. "When you said eight feet, I thought you were joking"

You close the door, set down the bag, and look for a clear spot of floor to sit on while you think about your answer. "I sometimes wish it was a joke, but If I can't take a joke, I shouldn't have joined."

Aunt Yasha glides over, moving just as inhumanly smoothly as you do. "Here, don't just sit anywhere, I've tea heating up. Move one of the chairs over and use a footstool at the kitchen table."

You pick up the footstool in question. "Thank you aunt Yasha."

She pours the tea and hands you a small pitcher, the better to fit your large hands. "Well, clearly you ran afoul of something unusual. Do you want to tell, or do I need to pry?"

You take a deep draft of the tea. Black, no honey or milk, and almost strong enough to float a spoon. "I'll tell. It started when I wandered down to the Deathwatch section of the Ignis, and came across a familiar face. Helheim. No, before you ask, he had nothing to do with how I changed, That was later, and he wasn't involved. We got to talking, and he mentioned a staff he had recovered and placed in storage, but then been unable to move. He found it where you found your Knotwork Amulet."

Aunt Yasha purses her lips in though. "Anai and Ariavari sticking their hands in again?"

"Yes, though I didn't know their names until later. Helheim, one of his men Wraith, and I agreed that it was all one coincidence too many, and that I should try and pick up the staff. Turned out to both be the right decision, and the wrong one. Staff had a whole pile of psychic data storage in it, and it dumped it all in my head. Knocked me out for two weeks, but didn't cause any of this," You gesture at yourself, "That came later. Specifically, Ariavari put in an appearance to check up on me I guess, after the Ignis put in at Vrenna. Turns out the staff hadn't quite worked as intended, and I had to either Unmake it or fix it."

Yasha frowns, then pours her tea into a large empty glass before conjuring up some ice and dropping it in. "I've had my own run-ins with Ariavari and Anai. Almost got me killed, and pushed me past a few boundaries of my own."

You nod at the glass. "Like cryomancy?"

Aunt Yasha nods. "Exactly. I'm guessing you opted to 'fix' the staff, given that you are all in one piece?"

"Yes, with Pyrus standing guard in case the worst came to pass. It worked, but at a cost." you lower your hood with your tendril, revealing your face.

Aunt Yasha studies you for a long moment, swirling her iced tea about. "So the size, the tendril, the eyes, and what, fangs? Not terrible overall. I know of one person who ended up squirming about on a serpent's tail for the rest of their life. Which wasn't too long, given he was trying to kill me at the time."

"Add in the venom, and you know as much as I do at the moment."

"Ok, I think I know someone who could help us, if you are willing to meet him."

You furrow your brow. "It's not like you to get all evasive all of a sudden. And why the qualifier?"

Aunt Yasha sighs. "Because he isn't exactly human, despite being the best expert I know of on the subject."

You raise one eyebrow. "Does he have any problem working with other non-humans?"

Aunt Yasha looks directly at you. "I'll tell his race if you tell me yours."

"Agreed. I'm stuck with a Tau medicae by the name of Littleflame at the moment. In part because no one else was willing to tend to me, and in part because Vrenna was a five-way mess and heading downhill faster than a meteor on re-entry."

"Then we shouldn't have any problems. Shaper Monat is a Kroot, and used to working with the Tau."